


Fruits of Communion

by zinke



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Series, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-04
Updated: 2006-11-04
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9310064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: Sam’s getting married, and the gang’s getting back together - in more ways than one -for the first time since the Santos Inauguration.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story came to mind as I was trying to reconcile the character’s interplay during the 7th season’s opening scene (about 2 ½ years after Santos’ election) with the way the relationships between characters had been left at the close of the series finale (day of the Inauguration). I mean let’s face it; there was a distinct lack of warm fuzzies among our intrepid group by the close of the series, yet by the Library opening, things seemed to have thawed considerably. So here I am, attempting to fill in some of the blanks.
> 
> A million thanks to my wonderful, most patient beta, Amara, who has helped me struggle through three months of writing, re-writing and editing this thing. Hopefully, it’s been as worth it for her as it has been for me!

* * * *

“I have been happy in my first times, to see, and with much comfort to enjoy, the blessed fruits of this sweet communion, but it is now a part of my misery in old age, to find and feel the decay, and…with grief and sorrow of heart to lament and bewail the same.”   
-Governor William Bradford, Plymouth Colony.

* * * *

 

August 2007  
Friday Night  
White House, West Wing  
9:30pm

"Ronna, is he in?"

"Sure, Sam, go ahead."

"Thanks," Sam said with a smile as he strode into the Oval, file folder hitched under one arm. "Mr. President?"

"Sam? What are you still doing here?"

"I had a call to make to the OMB, sir, and wanted to tie up a few loose ends before the weekend."

"Listen, Congress is officially at recess, and anything pressing can easily be staffed out. This is as quiet as things get around here." President Santos assumed an air of mock seriousness as he considered his Deputy Chief of Staff for a moment. "Don't tell me you're getting cold feet?"

Sam blanched considerably at the suggestion, and began to fumble with the file in his hands. President Santos merely grinned as a flustered Sam replied, "No, sir, of course not. I just want to be certain that there are no unexpected...interruptions this weekend."

"You know there's no way to be certain of that," the President warned, his grin fading, “Nature of the job, and all that."

"Of course, sir. What I meant to say—"

"I know how important this weekend is to you. After all, I had one just like it, not too, too long ago. There's no experience in your life quite like it,” Santos huffed softly. “So, barring a national disaster, your pager will be silent, I assure you. We'll just bother Lou instead."

Chuckling, Sam nodded. "Yes, sir. I’m sure she’ll appreciate that." Remembering his reason for intruding, he stepped forward, offering the file as he did so. "Here are the final polling numbers for the teacher tenure plan."

Santos took the file, flipping over the cover to quickly peruse the contents. "Looks good?"

Sam smiled with satisfaction. "Very good, sir. We can go over the details now, if you'd like—" 

Santos laughed and shook his head. "Sam, get out of here. You've got a wedding to attend this weekend, and you of all people really can't miss it. We'll go over the numbers next week."

Sam smiled self-consciously, uttering a quiet "Yes, sir," before turning to leave. He stopped short, however, at the sound of the President's voice.

"What time does everyone get in?"

Sam felt his chest expand and heart quicken with excitement as he thought about the friends he would be seeing in only a few short hours. "Our families have been in town for the past few days helping Hannah with the last minute arrangements. Most of our friends are getting in this evening. President and Dr. Bartlet won't be coming down until Sunday morning."

Santos nodded and smiled. "Well, then, I won't keep you." Santos inclined his head to the door. "And tell Josh to get out of here, too."

"Goodnight, Mr. President."

"Goodnight, Sam. I'll see you Sunday."

 

* * * *

"You 'bout done here, or am I actually going to leave the building before you do tonight?"

"No, I've got to finish reviewing this..." Donna muttered distractedly, her eyes never leaving the papers scattered across her desk. 

"Shouldn't I get a prize or something to mark this historic occasion? Donna?" he persisted with a smirk.

"Josh," she sighed in exasperation, finally raising her eyes to glare at him as he stood, leaning casually against the door frame. "Consider tonight's impending revelries to be your fabulous parting gift, and let me get the rest of my work done so I can go home and take a long, uninterrupted bubble bath."

"You're trying to get rid of me? I thought you liked having me around," he whined, unceremoniously dropping his bag inside the door and advancing into the office.

"Josh—"

"Think about it," he interrupted, moving around her desk to stand behind her. "I'm going out with the guys tonight, you’re going to your place to do, you know, whatever girly things women do when their man’s not around.” Donna rolled her eyes in response as Josh set his hands on her shoulders and began to gently knead at the knots he found there. "And tomorrow, between picking up CJ and Danny at the airport, the rehearsal, and the party, we’re going to be pretty busy. So, really, this may be the last time you have me all to yourself for...wow, at least twenty-four hours."

Giving in to the soothing touch of his hands, she allowed herself to lean back, close her eyes, and drop her head to rest against his chest. "Hmm...Somehow I think I'll manage. After all, I survived the President's state visit to Japan, and you were gone for a whole six days."

"I hate those trips."

"No, you don't."

He sighed, his hands stilling on her shoulders. "You won't be here too much longer?"

She opened her eyes slowly to consider his face hovering above hers. "No, not much longer. Sooner, even, if you let me get back to my reading."

"Okay," he said running his hands down her arms in a gentle caress before stepping away to cross the room. "I'd better go find Sam, make sure he's not late for his own bachelor party."

"Josh, please tell me there aren't going to be any strippers at this party."

"No strippers,” he defended, “just a few guys getting a few drinks at a local bar and regaling each other with stories about our manly exploits."

Donna's well manicured eyebrow arched in response.

"It's really going to be very tame, Donna."

"Just promise me I'm not going to wake up tomorrow morning and find you passed out on my living room floor smelling like a dumpster and wearing someone else's clothes."

Remembering several very uncomfortable hours spent in a pair of borrowed yellow waders, Josh had the good grace to look contrite. "'Kay."

 

* * * *

Making his way through the operations bullpen, Sam nodded to the junior staffers bustling around him, marveling as he often did at the level of dedication these young people must have to be working 80 hour weeks on the measly salary the government afforded them. Then again, he'd given up a six-figure salary to work here so maybe it wasn't such an unfathomable thing, after all. 

"Hey Sam, you seen Lou around? I need her to go over the final language for next weekend’s radio address." 

Sam slowed his pace and allowed Otto to catch up with him. "Sorry, haven't seen her for a while. Did you check the Mess?"

"That's my next stop. You getting out of here?"

"Think so," Sam said with a sigh. 

Otto nodded and moved ahead, calling out, "Hey, congratulations, Sam!" as he disappeared from view.

Sailing into his office, Sam swept his briefcase from its place on the floor and began fishing for his keys. "Susan, I'm done for tonight, so get on out of here!" He had only a moment to register his assistant's muffled reply before startling at the voice coming from just inside the doorway.

"You know, you really shouldn't bellow at your assistant like that. It'll come back to haunt you." 

"You should be one to talk."

"Hey, bellowing at my assistant seems to have worked out pretty well for me," Josh said with a smirk. 

"Donna didn’t like you because you used to bellow at her." 

"No. She loves me because I used to bellow at her." 

"Josh," Sam admonished with a less-than-convincing frown. 

Josh grinned, adjusting the position of his backpack upon his shoulder. "Ready to get out of here?" he asked, jerking his head towards the bullpen and the lobby beyond.

Flipping the clasp on his briefcase, Sam nodded before hoisting its strap over his shoulder. "You bet." Striding to the door and reaching for the light switch, he continued, "What time are we meeting Charlie and Toby?"

"'Bout half an hour."

Sam looked up to meet his friend’s eyes as he pulled his office door shut behind him. “Have you spoken to Toby yet?”

Josh shrugged casually. “He called from Andie’s to let me know he’d arrived and to confirm the plans for tonight. Why?”

“How did he sound?” Sam replied as the pair set off down the hall, a hint of anxiety coloring his voice. 

Comprehension dawning, Josh laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “He’s fine, Sam.” Off Sam’s look of disbelief, Josh amended, “He will be fine.”

“Yeah,” Sam said forcefully, his skepticism giving way to a protective determination.

“Now you, on the other hand,” Josh proclaimed with a devious smile, “will be an inebriated mess within the hour, if I have anything to say about it.” 

Relieved by the switch to a lighter topic, Sam playfully shot back, "I'd be more concerned about your 'sensitive system', my friend. Donna's gonna kick your ass if you show up at her door at three in the morning amorous, incoherent and smelly."

"Hey!!" Josh protested, his high-octave voice ringing through the lobby as the two men waved goodbye to the guards and made their way into the warm, humid night.


	2. Chapter 2

Saturday Morning  
The Hawk and Dove  
12:30am

"Think they have any Doobie Brothers in the jukebox?" Josh levered himself off the barstool and ambled unsteadily to the corner to peruse the machine's musical selections, oblivious to both his alcohol-induced lack of balance, and the cautionary calls of his friends.

"Anyone been keeping track of how much he's had to drink?" Toby inquired with little urgency, swirling the remaining whiskey in lazy circles at the bottom of his glass.

"We're supposed to be keeping track?" Charlie asked incredulously. "The man's in his forties, can't he take care of himself?"

Toby fixed Charlie with a laser stare, and couldn’t help noticing how the younger man wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. Tamping down his dismay, Toby replied shortly, "Are you new here? The man can barely walk a straight line after having more than a few beers."

"Let alone say the alphabet backwards..." Sam added helpfully. 

"I'm just saying, shouldn't Josh be able to decide for himself when he's had enough to drink?" 

"No!" the others exclaimed in unison.

"Can you believe that thing doesn't have any Doobie Brothers?" Josh complained, sliding back into his seat and reaching for his beer. "How can they not have the Doobie Brothers, for Christ's sake?" Toby simply rolled his eyes in exasperation before focusing his attention on the glowing end of his cigar. 

"Charlie, how're things at Georgetown?" Sam asked, deftly changing the subject.

"Everyone keeps complaining about Con Law. Me, I can't get my mind around Bankruptcy."

"Well Charlie," Sam replied, "not everyone had Josiah Bartlet as a tutor for Constitutional Law and Policy." 

"Or spent 7 years working in the West Wing of the White House," Toby added drolly.

"Yeah, I can see how you might think that would give me an advantage."

"Wait a minute—they wouldn't give you credit for the course, given your work experience? You've got to be joking!"

"No Josh, it's law school," Charlie sighed. "There's no extra credit in law school."

"I'm not talking about extra credit. I'm talking about rewarding people for getting into the game!" Exasperated looks were shared by the rest of the table as an oblivious Josh continued, "You’ve taken meetings with legislators, spoken with Supreme Court Justices, assisted both the President and the White House Chief of Staff—"

"Okay, Josh, we get it," Sam said, cutting the rant short and raising his hands in surrender. "Charlie was there. He saw. He got the complimentary White House keychain. Unfortunately, he still needs to take Con Law if he's going to graduate."

"I'm just saying—" Josh began again.

"No, you're really not anymore," Toby interjected good-naturedly. "Sam? Let’s talk about you."

"Huh?"

"Well,” Toby explained with put-upon patience, “this is your bachelor party, is it not? Aren't we supposed to sit around, share humiliating stories about you, and you in turn regale us with tales of how you made an ass of yourself on your first date with Hannah?”

"I didn't make an ass of myself on our first date...though I may have suffered some mild embarrassment on the second when, in my narrative enthusiasm, I accidentally spilled my Beaujolais in her lap."

"That's my boy," Josh crowed, slapping his friend soundly on the back. 

"Wait, you actually knew what type of wine you were drinking? I mean, aside from red versus white?" 

"Born and raised in California, Charlie. It would have been impossible not to learn the difference between, say, a Syrah and a Petite Sirah."

"Is it me, or did Sam just sound a little bit like a girl there?" Charlie asked with a smirk.

"Hey," Sam protested indignantly. "There are plenty of male oenophiles out there who know a lot more about wine than I do. And," he continued with a decisive jerk of his head, "I happen to know for a fact that women like to date a man who can order a bottle of wine with confidence."

"Wow. I can't believe he said that with a straight face," Toby grunted through the bottom of his glass. 

"They do? Like that, I mean? 'Cause I've never done that, and I have to say, I've never really had any complaints from the ladies."

"God," Toby groaned, dropping his now empty glass to the table with a thud. Raising his voice to be heard over the din of the crowd, he shouted towards the bartender, "I think we're going to need another chair, here, for Mr. Lyman's enormous ego!"

"Hey!" 

Sam leaned back, folding his hands behind his head while watching his companions with amusement. "The banter is back."

"What the hell is he talking about? Yeah, another round, please," he indicated to the approaching waitress with a circular wave of his hand. 

"I mean, it's been a long time since we've had the time or opportunity to do...this," Sam said, motioning back and forth in the space between the four men. "I miss it, sometimes, having all of you guys around." 

"And with that,” Toby groused, “we have now moved on to the overbearing, sentimental portion of the evening."

"I'm around quite a bit, you know," Josh protested weakly, peering at all of them with glazed eyes, his head propped precariously on one hand.

"Yes, Josh, you certainly are, but I was actually referring to us, you know, as a group, being together. Not talking about politics, just, you know, talking."

Charlie grinned. "Now, right there? I know that he sounded like a girl." 

The waitress returned, gingerly sliding the next round onto the table in-between the detritus of discarded napkins, empties and peanut shells. "Guys, really," Sam protested before chuckling and shaking his head. "I said I missed the banter. The mocking, not so much."

 

* * * *

Saturday Morning  
Reagan National Airport  
7:23am

"Coffee. And I want the real thing, not that watered-down airport kiosk crap they try to foist on you as you stumble off the jetway. High octane. Starbucks venti double-shot, non-fat latte. Extra foam."

"Okay, CJ." 

"I'm serious."

"Me, too. I've been there when you haven't been properly caffeinated. It's really not a pretty sight."

"Danny—"

Eyes alight with relief, Danny pointed across the security checkpoint before proclaiming, "Hey, there's Donna!" and quickening his pace to greet her. Despite her fatigue, CJ followed suit, breaking into a warm smile at the sight of her friend.

"Hey, guys!" Donna called with a wave, reaching out to hug first Danny, then CJ. "How was the flight?"

Danny rolled his eyes dramatically and CJ groaned before replying, "I want to know why commercial airlines refuse to make a seat with enough leg room for tall people. I'm pretty sure I ceased to feel anything below my knees somewhere over Re—nOw!!!" She exclaimed, raising her left foot to rub at her ankle. "What the hell'd you do that for?!?"

"Everything seems to be in working order now, though, doesn't it?" Danny said with a less-than-angelic smile, before moving to follow the signs for baggage claim. 

CJ sent a death glare at his retreating back before leaning into Donna to mutter, "Sometimes I just want to slap him upside the head with a frying pan, know what I mean?"

"CJ," Donna replied with a grin as the two began to make their way through the crowd after Danny, "I've got two words for you: Joshua Lyman. I assure you, I know exactly what you mean."

“So, where is the boy wonder this morning?”

Donna laughed. “Probably still in bed, drooling and snoring like a chainsaw. He and the guys took Sam out last night for his bachelor party.”

“Lovely,” CJ said sarcastically. 

“Not really, which is why I stayed at my place last night.”

“Ah.” CJ nodded sagely. They continued to walk together, silent for several moments before CJ asked with poorly concealed concern, “Was Toby with them last night? You know, to supervise or something?” 

“He got into town yesterday afternoon, and was planning to be there,” Donna answered, studying the face of her friend before continuing, “You’ll have to ask Josh about how things went last night, though.” 

Together they stepped onto the escalator. “Yeah,” CJ replied distractedly, her eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance. 

“C’mon, CJ,” Donna prompted, oblivious to the true reason for her friend’s burgeoning anxiety. Taking hold of the taller woman’s arm, Donna guided her off the escalator and towards the baggage claim where Danny was already waiting. “How bad could it have been?”

“The better question may be how bad can it possibly get?” CJ breathed to herself with trepidation.


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday Morning  
Home of Congresswoman Andrea Wyatt  
9:02am

"Daddy, watch me! Daddy!"

"Yeah...Molly, be careful, please. I'm really not up on my first aid training." Toby watched anxiously as his daughter executed a series of lopsided cartwheels across the yard. 

Huck, sitting calmly beside his father, watched his sister with equal interest. "Dad, why's Molly doing that?"

"I really couldn't tell you, son." 

From behind them, Andie's voice carried out over the lawn. "She's trying to impress you, Toby. Unfortunately, I don’t think she realizes the magnitude of the task she's set for herself. C'mon, I've got breakfast ready inside."

Toby nodded, and called out to his daughter, "Molly, come in for breakfast!"

Stopping her acrobatics, Molly broke into a run to catch up to her father. "Did you see? Did you see, Daddy?"

“I did. You've been practicing, haven't you?" 

Molly bestowed a glowing smile on her father before bounding in the porch door, her brother following sedately in her wake. Toby closed the sliding door behind him and watched, smiling, as both his children clamored into their respective chairs. 

“Toby, can you help carry the other things?” Andie called from the kitchen before emerging a moment later, balancing a brightly colored cereal bowl in each hand. 

“Yeah,” he replied, hastening past her into the kitchen to retrieve a plate of sliced melon and a second piled high with toast and muffins. “Gee, Andie, are you expecting a few other people to show up? The entire membership of the House Ethics Committee, perhaps?”

“Be quiet and eat, Toby,” she replied with a smile as she set a bowl down in front of each child. “Try not to spill so much this time, Huck, okay?” Huck’s only response was to begin drumming his feet against the chair as he plunged his spoon into the cereal. 

Settling into his chair, Toby regarded his son and daughter for several minutes, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. Taking note, Andie inquired, “You okay, there, Toby?” as she reached across the table to snatch a muffin. Snapping out of his reverie, Toby simply nodded before beginning to fill his own plate. Watching his movements with interest, she continued with her questioning. “So, how long do we have you for today?”

“Apparently the groomsmen don’t need to be at the rehearsal until after 5, so, until then.” 

“That’s unusual.”

Toby’s shoulders gave a half-hearted shrug. “They’re going to run through the ceremony itself first, the processional separately. Sam said something about trying to avoid scheduling conflicts for several members of the wedding party who thought they might have meetings on The Hill.” 

“We could go into the District, maybe walk through the monuments with the kids? It’s going to be a beautiful day.”

Toby cast a quick glance sideways to find his daughter watching him with a wide-eyed, hopeful expression. At that moment he was again reminded of how right Leo had been about fatherhood, on what was one of the best and worst nights of his life. “I could be convinced.”

“Yay!!!” Molly cheered, waving her hands above her head in triumph. For his part, Huck was already dropping out of his chair, cereal forgotten. Toby watched their frenetic activity with wide-eyed apprehension. 

“Sunblock and caps for both of you before we go!” Andie stated as she watched the scene with amusement.

“Yankee caps!” he called out desperately as both children tumbled through the kitchen door and out of view. Toby flinched slighted at the sound of their chaotic footfalls thundering from above as both raced to their room to prepare for the day. 

Turning back to the table and his breakfast, Toby was disturbed to find Andie again studying him intently from across the table. “What?” he asked around a mouthful of toast.

“If it’s at all possible, you’re more even dour than usual this morning. What gives?”

“What gives?” Toby groaned. “Proper grammar, like chivalry, is truly dead.” 

“Answer the question,” Andie persisted, narrowing her eyes as she continued to study him. “This weekend is supposed to be fun—a difficult concept for you to grasp, I know. And yet, you’re sitting here looking like death twice-warmed over, and I really would like to know why.”

"Yeah, attending a Protestant ceremony securing my former Deputy in holy matrimony while surrounded by about 200 DNC insiders who still view me as a modern day Judas—I can't think of a better way to spend a weekend," he replied sharply. 

"I think you’ll be able to find a few friends in the crowd, Toby,” she soothed. “Sam, Josh, Donna—“

"Sam and Josh are not who I’m concerned about!” he spat. “Charlie wouldn’t look me in the eye last night! He barely said anything to me at all!” 

Unruffled by his increasing bluster, Andie responded calmly, “Don’t you think you might be overreacting a little bit? I thought you’d said Charlie had been sympathetic at Leo’s funeral?” 

“President Bartlet is going to be there!” he blurted, finally revealing the true source of his agitation. “What would you suggest I say when the former leader of the free world sees me: ‘Gee, sir, just wanted to say thank you for taking pity on me and keeping me out of prison!?!?’” Finally spent, Toby allowed his eyes to slide shut as he slumped back in his chair. “I shouldn’t have agreed to come,” he said softly. 

“Yes, you should have,” Andie countered with conviction. “If for no other reason, then because of what it means to Sam that you’re here. I think you’ll be surprised, though, Toby,” she said as she rose from her seat and began collecting dirty dishes from the table. “Not everyone is as unforgiving as you are. Now, go upstairs and help your kids get ready. We’re leaving as soon as I get these dishes washed and put away.”

 

* * * *

Saturday Morning  
Josh Lyman's Apartment  
9:27am

Josh was hoping that, if he simply stood very still and let the scalding water pound against his forehead for just a few more minutes—or maybe an hour—the dull throbbing behind his eyes would go away. "The Sit Room access codes for some Advil," he muttered sourly to himself. His eyes snapped open a minute later, however, at the faint sound of a door closing in what he had thought was his otherwise empty apartment. 

"DONNA!!" he bellowed expectantly, wincing at the sound of his own voice echoing off the bathroom walls. He waited impatiently for the customary exasperated response, but heard nothing.

"DON-ARAGH!!!" he yelped, almost losing his footing as a vicious pounding rattled the bathroom door.

"JOSHUA!!" a distinctly non-Donna voice blasted through the layers of wood, paint and plaster. "Stop yelling like a spoiled five-year-old and get out here!" 

"Okay...CJ," he said weakly, turning off the water and reaching for a towel. 

"Sorry 'bout that, Josh," Danny called out apologetically. "Caffeine deficiency." 

"Yeah, kinda guessed that," Josh muttered irritably. 

Several minutes later, Josh emerged from the bedroom, straightening his rumpled polo shirt before running a hand through his damp, unruly hair. Turning the corner, he found CJ, Danny and Donna lounging on his couch, each sipping from large, white take-out cups emblazoned with a familiar green circular logo. "Please tell me you guys brought enough to share with the class?"

Donna nodded towards the kitchen counter, and Josh eagerly jogged over to inspect. To his immense pleasure, he found not only a large cup of still-steaming coffee, but a pair of bright orange tablets and a glass of water. 

"You know, Joshua, you seriously need to learn how to use your inside voice," CJ admonished before turning to Donna with a sly grin. "I really don't know how you've been able to put up with him for so many years."

"That which does not kill us, makes us stronger," Donna replied with mock gravity. "The way I figure it, a few more years and I'll have achieved immortality." 

"You know, I'm standing right here. I can hear you." Having quickly downed the pills, he reached for the coffee, inhaling deeply to savor the aroma. 

"I believe that was actually the point, mi amour. Now," CJ said, rising from her seat and turning to face him, "are you going to say hello properly, or am I going to need to take you to school on that, too?"

Grinning self-consciously, Josh crossed the room and enveloped her in a hug. "Good to see you, Claudia Jean. You, too, Danny," Josh said releasing CJ and firmly grasping the other man's hand. "I could do with a little less of the mocking this early in the morning, though."

"Builds character," Danny said with a shrug, "or so CJ tells me." 

"You guys had breakfast yet?" 

CJ winced at the question. "Only if you consider a clammy muffin and a pint carton of orange juice at thirty-five thousand feet an actual meal."

"Kinda makes you long for the days you could just hop a ride on Air Force One and have Rene whip up whatever you wanted, huh?" Josh said with a smirk. 

CJ narrowed her eyes at him. "Me. Ten-billion dollars. Curing the world of its ills. Just remember that, fly-boy."

"Second most-powerful man in the country, CJ."

"Second most-powerful person,” she parried, “and been there, done that." 

"Hey, Pulitzer prize winner, over here. That's gotta count for something, right?"

"Guys?" Donna interjected tiredly as she rose from the couch. "Breakfast? How about Joe's on the corner?" 

Josh ambled over to stand next to Donna, wrapping an arm loosely around her shoulders. "Donna hates it when I get into these one-upmanship competitions. After all, they really are unfair to anyone addle-minded enough to take me on." 

Rising to the challenge, Donna fixed him with a steely glare before replying "Chief of Staff to the most-powerful woman in the country, who happens to hold considerable influence over the most powerful man in the country, who, if I'm not mistaken, tells you what to do with yourself on a daily basis." Donna flounced out of Josh's grasp, making her way to the apartment door. "Shall we go?" 

"You know, she really gotcha, there," Danny conceded with a grin as he took CJ's hand and slipped past an open-mouthed Josh. CJ fell into step behind him, chuckling softly. 

"Did anyone else see that, just now?" a bewildered Josh asked the now empty room.


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday Evening  
Rehearsal Dinner  
Home of Sam Seaborn and Hannah Jennings  
7:15pm

"Everything went well before I got there?" Toby asked.

Sam's disembodied voice issued forth from behind the open refrigerator door. "Yeah." His head popped up a moment later, a pair of long-neck bottles his left hand. "You know. Practice makes perfect. All’s well that ends well."

"You’re giving me clichés?" Toby replied dubiously. 

"Okay, so perhaps a few things could have gone more smoothly."

"What kind of things?" Toby said as he accepted the proffered bottle and took a sip. "Sam?" he prompted after several seconds had elapsed.

"Let's just say that, much like when one travels by commercial airline, all cell phones, pagers, and portable handheld devices must be shut off before entering the church tomorrow morning. Hannah was also advocating for random bag and body searches of both participants and guests, but I think I’ve been able to talk her out of that. Would kind of ruin the mood, don’t you think?”

"Josh got a call?" 

"Not exactly," Sam said sheepishly.

"You?" Toby exclaimed, no longer fighting to hide the glee in his voice. "Did you take the call? Please tell me you didn't take the call." 

"Only to say that I couldn't..." Sam trailed off, the rest of the sentence dying on his lips at Toby's withering glare. "Not my best decision, I know."

"Not to worry. Just the latest addition to an already lengthy list."

"I always feel so much better about myself after we have these conversations, Toby."

"I can't imagine why," Toby mused as he settled himself into one of the kitchen chairs. 

Sam grinned at his companion a moment before taking a seat across the table. He began rolling his beer bottle between his hands, eyes intent on the motion as he considered how best to broach what he knew would be a sensitive subject. "Can I ask you something? And, truly, feel free to kick me in the ass if I’m out of line."

"You couldn't have offered me this opportunity, say, nine years ago? The number of times I could have taken you up on it—"

"Why'd you do it?" Sam interjected quickly, his eyes now studying the face of his friend.

“Do…what, exactly?” Toby asked carefully. 

Sam responded with measured patience, his eyes never leaving Toby’s. "The leak."

"Do we really need to do this now?"

"Yeah I think we do. I know I do. Maybe it'll do you good," Sam said earnestly.

"What? Confessing my sins?" Toby bit out, leaning back from the table and crossing his arms defensively. "I'm Jewish, Sam, we don’t really do that sort of thing."

"No, not confession. Apology, explanation, contrition—whatever it needs to be. Have you had the opportunity to explain? To the President? CJ? Any of them?"

"It's done, Sam. It's been done for over a year. What possible good can it do to bring it up again?"

"Toby, this thing, it never really went away. Don't you remember, the MS? It took weeks for the President to acknowledge that he had betrayed our trust, and that what we were feeling was justified. Remember how angry we all were after only a couple weeks? Just imagine the rage that’s been building over the course of the past year." 

Toby rose abruptly from his chair, his expression stony. Rubbing his hand roughly over his pate, he turned to leave. "I don't have to imagine it, Sam. I feel it. And if I knew how to fix things, don’t you think I would have by now?"

Sam said nothing, his eyes sliding shut is sad resignation, shuttering his friend's retreating figure from view. 

“Sam, dear, is everything all right?”

“Yeah, Mom, everything’s fine.” He breathed, opening his eyes to meet hers. “How are you holding up?”

“A little tired, but I’ll manage,” she assured, bending to brush her lips across her son’s cheek. “Help me carry some of these trays out to the yard?”

“Sure,” he said rising from his seat and following his mother into the kitchen where he accepted a pair of trays laden with food. Turning carefully, Sam made his way through the kitchen and out the patio door, pausing only to nod a hello to Josh and to Danny as he passed them on his way down patio stairs. 

“So, whatcha doin’ up here?” Danny asked as he settled against the railing next to his friend.

Josh cocked an eyebrow before replying vaguely, “Observing.” From his vantage point, Josh watched as Hannah came up behind Sam, wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, nearly causing Sam to drop his unwieldy cargo in the process. Sam, with surprising dexterity, safely secured both platters on a nearby table before turning his head to kiss her soundly on the temple.

Danny, watching Josh as he in turn watched his friend, grinned knowingly before asking, "So, when did you know?" cocking his chin slightly in Donna's direction for clarification.

Josh followed Danny's motion with his eyes. Swallowing slowly, he contemplated the woman standing across the lawn, smiling warmly as she listened to CJ's animated storytelling. 

His mind skipped over years of memories, coming to rest on the moment he realized it—realized her. "The Inauguration. Second one," he said decisively, a slow grin blooming across his features at the memory. 

"Outside her apartment?"

"Yeah. It was like I was seeing her for the first time."

"Could have been the alcohol, you know—I'm just saying, you were pretty hammered."

"The cold sobered me up. Well, that and having to ride in the cab with Will Bailey on my lap."

"Yeah, that would do it, I guess."

"Besides, it really wasn't the alcohol. It was…" Josh faltered, eyes staring into the middle distance as he tried to find the words. 

Danny, focusing on the same vague point, nodded in sharp understanding. "Yeah."

The two men continued to stand together, quietly, until Josh abruptly turned his head and fixed Danny with an inquisitive stare. "So, how about you? When did you know?"

"'Bout CJ?" Josh nodded before taking a long pull on his beer. Without hesitation, Danny replied, "When I came back to the White House. She still had Gail."

Josh's forehead crinkled in confusion, then seconds later in disbelief as he realized, "The fish?!? So wait. You're telling me that—"

Danny nodded, cutting Josh's incredulous response short. "She'd kept Gail, who, if you remember,” he added with an accusatory glance at his companion, “she never really wanted in the first place. You really couldn't have been more specific?" 

Josh stared at him, his head slowly shaking in disbelief. "A fish."

"Well, that and the fact that she gave me a pretty enthusiastic kiss in the middle of the briefing room the night I got back to DC." Josh's eyebrows shot up to meet his hairline as he processed that new piece of information, smarting slightly at the unfairness of it. CJ would have, and had often times threatened, to commit bodily harm if he’d tried anything that stupid within 10 feet of the press room. 

Recovering a moment later, Josh adopted a serious expression before advising, "You know, you might want to leave out the part about the fish if CJ ever asks you about this."

Danny considered Josh's recommendation for a moment. "Lacks romantic poetry, you think?"

"Just a little." 

"Hmm."

The two were enveloped in companionable silence for several moments, during which Josh's eyes were again drawn across the crowd to Donna. "Hey, Danny, mind if I ask you something else?" Danny hesitated, and then shook his head. "Why the hell'd you wait so long to do something about it?" 

Danny raised his eyebrows in momentary surprise, before shrugging self-consciously. "Chicken-shit. You?"

"Pathologic avoidance thing."

"Ah," Danny breathed.

Across the yard, CJ's attention was divided between her immediate companions and the two men standing along the patio railing. She watched Josh and Danny with trepidation as they spoke, both men taking less-than-surreptitious glances in her, Donna and Hannah's direction. Deciding she'd rather not know what kind of macho, testosterone-fueled exchange the two were having, she returned her attention wholly on the conversation at hand. 

"The stories Sam would tell me about the campaign and the White House, I have to be honest, I had trouble believing some of them."

"Hannah, I was there and I have trouble believing some of the situations we got ourselves into," Donna replied with a grin. Glancing over Hannah's shoulder to be sure Josh was out of earshot, she continued, "President Bartlet's secret plan to fight inflation comes to mind."

CJ groaned loudly, her wide grin betraying her amusement. "Tripping over ourselves to appease Karen Cahill after Leo insulted her shoes." 

Donna paled considerably at the memory. "I still can't look that woman in the eye." 

"Neither can Sam," CJ said with a smirk, which grew exponentially as she noticed Hannah's obvious lack of recognition. Narrowing her eyes, she continued with purpose, "Hannah, did Sam by any chance ever tell you that he and Josh once tried to set the Mural Room on fire?" 

Now it was Hannah's face that lost color. "He tried to burn down the White House?" she gasped, horrified.

"CJ," Donna scolded, suddenly realizing what the former Press Secretary had already deduced. Turning sympathetic eyes on Hannah, she assured, "He didn't intentionally set the building on fire. He and Josh did start a fire in the Mural Room fireplace, but they didn’t realize that the flue had been welded shut about one hundred years earlier. Let’s just say that the evening ended with the President standing on the Truman balcony in his underwear." 

"You can’t be serious," Hannah breathed, her eyes darting between Donna and CJ, searching for an indication that they were joking. When none came, she slowly shook her head. "Sam's told me a lot of stories, but it seems he may have conveniently 'forgotten' a few of the juicier ones."

"No problem," CJ assured with a wicked smile. "I can fill you in. My memory is long, and my desire to inflict embarrassment, insatiable." 

"Honestly, there are times I’m amazed that we were actually able to get around to governing the country," Donna commented with a sigh.

"I'm amazed that people actually re-elected us to govern the country!" CJ exclaimed as Hannah raised her drink to her lips. "I mean, really, when the White House Deputy Chief of Staff sends pizza COD to the President of Turkmenistan because he won't support a UN peacekeeping resolution, you've got to wonder."

"Josh did what?!?" Hannah choked, mid-sip. "Now I know you're not serious."

"Sad," CJ sighed, looking anything but, "yet true. And to think those two idiot boys are still there—promoted, even." 

Hannah considered CJ a moment. "Do you ever miss it? Working in the White House?" 

CJ glanced at Donna, who was watching her old friend, a small smile hinting at the corner of her mouth. She then turned her eyes to scan the crowd, her gaze stopping on each of them—Josh, Sam, Toby, Charlie, Danny—in turn, her chest tightening with a regret she hadn't felt for several months. "I do, sometimes. But, honestly, I wouldn't have wanted to be there at any other time, or with any other people. I was the last of the first, from the original campaign. Myself and the President, of course," she amended with a sheepish huff. "And it wasn't the same. It was challenging, exhilarating, everything you'd expect working at the White House to be. But those last few months in office, I found myself searching to remember the last time I had honestly laughed at a joke, or shared a beer with a colleague after hours. Those stories, like the one about Josh and the pizzas, or Sam and the fireplace? Those are what I remember most, and by the time Toby…" she faltered a moment, "…left, the camaraderie, and everything that went with it, was gone. It's one of the reasons I turned President Santos down." Casting apologetic eyes to Donna, CJ concluded softly, "You can never go back."


	5. Chapter 5

Saturday Evening  
Rehearsal Dinner  
Home of Sam Seaborn and Hannah Jennings  
8:02pm 

Donna reached out to squeeze CJ's arm in silent understanding, meeting the other woman's mournful eyes with her own, over-bright blue ones. 

"What's with all the long faces?" Sam asked with concern, stepping into the group and taking Hannah's hand in his own. 

"Donna and CJ have been plying me with tall tales about the Bartlet Administration," Hannah chimed in quickly, giving both CJ and Donna a moment to recover. "So, Mr. Seaborn," she said, turning to him with an arched eyebrow and playful grin, "care to comment on speculation that, during your time as Deputy Communications Director under the Bartlet Administration, you attempted to set fire to the West Wing of the White House?" 

Sam's eyes whipped around wildly, searching frantically for inconvenient eavesdroppers, before turning a wounded, accusatory glare on CJ. "You told her about the fireplace?"

"I resent the accusation, there, Spanky, and no, I did not. You have Donna to thank for that."

"Hey!” Donna protested, “You implied that he knowingly and purposefully set fire to the Mural Room! I didn’t want Hannah to think she was marrying a felon." 

"I honestly don't know whether to thank you or punish you," Sam said, looking at Donna balefully. 

"If you're leaning towards punishment, you should tell Hannah exactly why Donna can’t stand to look Karen Cahill in the eye," CJ offered helpfully.

"I'm leaving now," Donna proclaimed with forced nonchalance. "Tell away, Sam. Just remember, I have connections." 

As she hustled across the lawn, she spotted Josh and Toby huddled together, in the midst of what appeared to be a weighty conversation. Josh's face was tight, his eyes trained on his shoes as he spoke. For his part, Toby's face was characteristically blank, the constant fidgeting of his hands the only thing that belied his unease. 

Her paced slowed as she watched the exchange with growing concern. Josh raised his head as he listened to Toby, his face softening almost imperceptibly as his eyes found her own. She smiled slightly in response; Josh didn't return the smile, instead inclining his head slightly towards Toby in a silent request for her to join them. 

Coming up beside them a minute later, her concern grew at the uncharacteristically gentle tone of Josh’s voice as he spoke. "...haunting you for months. Maybe Sam's right," he said with a sigh. "He seems to be making a habit of it lately."

"Hey, Donna," Toby said, offering her a weak smile and accepting her as she leaned in to hug him. 

"It’s good to see you, Toby—or should I say, Professor Zeigler,” she said with a grin, hoping to lighten the mood. “Ready to start teaching in a few weeks?" 

"I'd be more excited if I didn't have to spend so much time with, you know, the students." Donna favored him with an empathetic smile as he continued, "But it will give me time to research, and to write."

"That article was something else," Josh offered. "Caused quite a stir in Judiciary."

"Not the first time that's happened because of me," Toby said with a self-depreciating laugh. "I'm gonna—" he said, waving vaguely in the direction of the house. 

"We'll be here," Donna called after him as he moved away. 

"Thanks," he whispered, more to himself than to them, before continuing to make his way towards the house. 

"You two okay?" Donna asked with concern, turning to Josh and resting a hand on his arm. 

"Yeah," he breathed, his gaze lingering on Toby a beat longer, before stepping closer and wrapping an arm loosely around her waist. "Just talking." 

"Looked pretty serious for 'just talking'," she probed. 

"You and CJ both looked like you were about to cry a few minutes ago when you were talking to Hannah," he countered, pointedly avoiding her question.

Donna was quiet a moment before responding simply, "It was the good kind of sad."

"There is a good kind?" he asked in confusion.

"Of course there is," she replied, only a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Rumpling his brow, Josh shrugged. "A’kay."

Donna paused again as she considered how far to push him. Despite their increasing closeness, it was still difficult for Josh to be able to engage in serious conversations about their emotions. More often than not, he fell back on a clever quip, or would redirect the conversation entirely, as he had only moments earlier. 

Opting this time to push, albeit gently, she raised her eyes to meet his. "We were telling Hannah stories about our first years in office. The Mural Room fire you and Sam started, embarrassing ourselves in front of Karen Cahill..." 

Josh's dimples popped at the mention of the reporter's name. "Ahh, one of my favorites."

Admonishing him with a glance, she continued as if he hadn't spoken, "…and we realized how much we miss it. So it's sad, but good, because we’ve been given the chance to miss it in the first place."

"Your powers of logic are a little demented, you know that?" he said with a smart smirk, the softness in his voice the only betrayal of his understanding. 

Donna acknowledged him with a gentle smile before retorting, "Your puny intellect just can't keep up. Admit it."

"Must I go over the evidence of my academic prowess with you once again?"

"SAT's, GPA's, BA's, JD's...” she listed airily. “You can't measure the value of a person's intelligence based solely on test scores and collegiate degrees, Joshua."

"No, you certainly can't, Donnatella," he murmured, the mirth in his voice only a moment earlier all but gone as he leaned in to kiss her softly. 

"Am I the only one who's having a hard time getting used to seeing Josh and Donna...you know?" CJ waved her hand loosely for emphasis as she watched the couple in question with a critical eye.

"You honestly can't tell me you're surprised," Charlie said with a disbelieving frown. 

“Surprised, no. Slightly nauseated, yes.”

“CJ!” Sam admonished. 

“The Josh Lyman I know is never happier than when he’s yelling at, bullying or outmaneuvering someone for the good of the Democratic Party,” CJ pressed. “And yet there he is, not a Congressional Republican in sight, looking, you know, the way he does.”

“Happy? Content?” Sam suggested with a smirk. 

“Whatever,” CJ dismissed with a sharp wave of her hand. “All I want to know is what’s been done with the real Josh Lyman because I am pretty sure that’s not him.”

“You should have sat in on his meeting yesterday with the Senate Majority Leader. Trust me, you’d have no doubt.”

“Love changes people,” an exasperated Charlie exclaimed, before looking pointedly at each person—Sam, CJ, Hannah—in turn. “You guys of all people should understand that.” 

Several uncomfortable seconds later, Sam broke the stifling silence, offering with forced levity, “So, can I interest anyone in another drink?”


	6. Chapter 6

Saturday Night  
Home of Sam Seaborn and Hannah Jennings  
9:30pm

“You know, some feminists could argue that this tradition—superstition, really— is outdated. Antiquated. Archaic,” he argued animatedly as he watched Hannah pull the zipper closed on her overnight bag.

“Sam, the belief that it’s unlucky for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony is hardly a threat to the feminist manifesto.”

Trailing behind her as she walked to the door, Sam complained petulantly, “This is ridiculous. We live together. I see you every morning. I really like it that I get to see you every morning.”

“Yes, so do I,” she said slowly, pulling the front door open before turning to face him, “but tomorrow is our wedding day, and I happen to really like silly traditions and antiquated superstitions, too. So, I’m going to go, because my parents are in the car waiting for me, and you,” she said, poking him lightly in the chest, “are going to stay here and not be up all night reliving the glory days with your friends.” She punctuated the statement with a lingering kiss.

“Okay,” he said softly as she pulled away. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he breathed, studying her face as if he might never see it again.

“Yes, you most certainly will,” she said with a soft smile, raising her hand to caress his cheek. 

Capturing her wrist, he brought her hand to his lips and placed a kiss in the center of her palm before releasing her. He watched her as she walked across the yard and climbed into the waiting rental car, his eyes not leaving the vehicle until it had vanished into the night’s hazy darkness.

Breathing a heavy sigh, he closed the door and turned to make his way to the kitchen, smiling as he eavesdropped on his friends as their voices drifted down the hallway. 

“What do you mean Danny’s asleep on the couch?” Josh’s disembodied voice exclaimed. 

“He doesn’t do so well with inter-time zone travel.” 

“CJ, we’re three hours ahead of the West Coast, so how can he be tired when technically—?”

“Listen,” CJ cut in, “I don’t pretend to understand it. I’m just telling you the way it is.” 

“A’kay.” Josh replied skeptically. 

Entering the kitchen, Sam was met with the sight of CJ standing at the counter artfully shuffling a deck of cards, and Toby meticulously stacking casino chips at the center of the kitchen table while Josh rummaged in the refrigerator for provisions. 

“We’ve got a couple Corona’s, a lone Heineken to which I am laying claim, a six-pack of Anchor Steam, and some white wine,” Josh called from behind the fridge’s door. Rising up and noting Sam’s presence, he inquired with a self-satisfied smirk, “So tell me, exactly what kind of wine is this in your Frigidaire, Mr. Oenophile?” 

“Why can’t you just read the label and find out,” Sam shot back weakly, trying not to look embarrassed. 

Slapping the deck of cards on the counter, CJ cut in impatiently, “Josh, stop harassing Sam for…whatever the hell it is, and give me a Corona.” Josh wordlessly handed her a bottle, looking anything but contrite as he kicked shut the refrigerator door and moved to distribute the remaining beer amongst the others. 

“Thanks, CJ,” Sam said softly, coming up to stand beside her. 

CJ arched an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t do it for you, there Spanky. I am a thirsty woman. A woman in need of libation,” she said, tossing the bottle cap on the counter before taking a long swig of beer. “This would be so much better with lime—got any limes in there?”

“Uhhh…” he answered unnecessarily, as CJ threw open the fridge and began opening drawers and shifting containers. 

“Hey Sam, do you have any chips? Maybe some dip? Oooh, or salsa?” Donna asked as she pushed past CJ and began pulling open cabinet doors.

“You know guys, there are leftover sandwiches from the rehearsal dinner…can’t we just eat those?” Sam asked with mounting anxiety as he watched the two women hunt through his kitchen. 

“We’re playing cards, Sam,” Donna exclaimed as she shifted her search to the pantry. “You can’t play cards without salty snacks.”

“Remember those sandwiches Leo would have Margaret order from Krupin’s? Pastrami sliced so thin you could practically see through it,” Josh said wistfully as he plunked down next to Toby, straddling a backwards chair. 

“Are we actually going to play poker at some point tonight, or am I just wasting my time here?” Toby groused as he accepted a beer from Josh. 

Taking the hint, both Donna and CJ abandoned their respective searches, much to Sam’s relief. 

“This beer would be so much better with lime,” CJ muttered sullenly as she took her chair. Donna simply patted the other woman’s shoulder in silent understanding as she took her own seat. Sam joined them a moment later, after moving several trays of leftovers to the counter for easy access. 

Surveying the table, Toby’s expression darkened at the sight of a lone empty chair. “Where’s Charlie?”

“Bathroom,” everyone chorused. 

Toby closed his eyes, muttering just loudly enough for the others to hear. “It was one thing when we couldn’t make it through a hand at the White House because we were, you know, busy running a country. But, really, now we have no such excuse, and yet here we are, not playing.” Raising his face towards the ceiling, Toby bellowed, “Charlie!?!” 

“Keep it down, Toby!” CJ hissed dramatically, eyes shifting nervously to the adjacent room from which faint snoring could now be heard. “We don’t have any more room at the table and I don’t have the stamina to listen to his martyr routine tonight.” Unnoticed by the rest, Toby’s complexion paled slightly as CJ’s final words unwittingly hit home. 

Charlie bounded into the room a moment later, hands still visibly damp from washing. “I’m in, I’m in! What’s the ante?” he asked frantically as he fell into the last remaining chair.

“Five?” CJ asked, and off everyone’s nod of assent, she continued, “Okay folks, the game’s Seven Card Stud, deuces are wild. Ante up and here we go.” 

Everyone was silent as CJ dealt, the only noise in the room, aside from Danny’s rhythmic snores, the click of the chips as they landed at the table’s center and the snap of the cards as they were pulled from the deck. 

Josh, whose eyes kept shifting from his cards to the darkened living room, finally blurted, “CJ, don’t you think he’d be better off not sleeping right now?” 

Reaching behind Donna, CJ simply responded by whapping him soundly on the back of the head, causing Josh to yelp in surprise and several others at the table to snicker. “So, Donna, what’s it gonna be? In or out?” she asked sweetly.

“Raise five.”

“Joshua?”

“I’ll call,” he said, still pouting as he tossed his chips onto the pile.

“How about you Sam? Feeling lucky tonight?”

“Call,” Sam said, patently ignoring CJ’s teasing.

“Chaz, my man, what’s your plan?”

Rolling his eyes, Charlie simply tossed in a five-chip and continued to consider his cards.

“All yours, Toby,” CJ prompted with a smile. As the seconds passed and he made no move to bet or to reply, she prompted again and with more force, “Toby? It’s your turn.”

Toby continued to say nothing for several beats, eyes swinging around the table to consider each of the others in turn with a solemn gaze. Turning his eyes to the haphazard pile of chips before him, he stated softly, “I should explain why.”

Oblivious to the seriousness of his tone, CJ shot back jauntily, “Toby’s apparently decided to channel President Bartlet tonight. Just tell me there isn’t going to be a pop quiz after you’re through enlightening us on the pros and cons of the poker bluff.”

Several good-natured groans were issued by the others, all intimately familiar with the former President’s affection for trivia. Sam, however, noting the gravity of Toby’s expression and recalling their conversation earlier in the evening, remained motionless and silent.

“No,” Toby said, slowly laying his cards face down upon the table before turning his eyes to meet CJ’s. “You’d think every second of that night would have felt like an eternity,” he said with a sardonic laugh, “given what I had done—what I had just confessed to doing,” he clarified. The easy smile slid from CJ’s face, her eyes hardening as she realized to what he was referring. Charlie’s back noticeably stiffened, while Donna and Josh exchanged an anxious glance. 

“It was quite the opposite. Someone with my political experience, who’d been through a Congressional Investigation only a few years earlier, should have known that the moment after I had spoken the truth, I’d be quarantined. For some utterly unexplainable reason, I had thought I would have at least had a chance to explain why I had spoken to Greg Brock.” 

“Toby—” CJ attempted, the look on her face a mixture of trepidation, anger, and curiosity. 

He simply raised a hand to silence her. “Judas betrayed Jesus for 30 pieces of silver, and when his remorse became overwhelming, he renounced his profit and ended his life. Ideology and personal grief were the only incentive I needed. But if any of you think that I refused to take their deals out of some desire to do penance for my actions, you’re sadly mistaken. I have no regrets about what I did and no doubt about the veracity of my reasons. I simply wish that there had been a moment when I might have been able to say that the pain it caused all of you was unintended, and unfortunate.” 

Toby raised his eyes from where they had been trained on the table, his expression guarded as he surveyed the impact of his words on those around him. No one spoke for several minutes; even Danny’s persistent snoring had ceased, allowing the heavy silence to swirl and thicken around them undisturbed. 

Unable to stand the weighty hush any longer, Toby rose from his chair, his words coming out in an awkward rush. “Maybe it would be better if I go.”

“No!” CJ said sharply, finally raising her eyes to meet Toby’s. “You don’t get to just say something like that and then walk away.” 

Chastised, Toby retook his seat, eyes wary and his posture defensive. 

“CJ,” Josh interjected softly, hoping to soothe her.

“Josh, I can handle this,” she snapped. Turing back to Toby, she continued with steely calm, “What did you honestly expect? We were colleagues, Toby, yes, but we were also friends. It was personal because during those years in the White House, our jobs were our lives. You can say what you want about your ideological prerogative, and we can debate whether or not your actions were in service to this country until we’re blue in the face, but the day you leaked that story was the day you betrayed your friends. That,” she emphasized, “is why it hurt so much.” 

“What do you want from me, CJ?” he asked weakly, looking at her with liquid eyes. “If there had been any other way, don’t you think I would have taken it? I lost everything. My life as I’d known it was over the moment I opened my mouth. I’ve been doing my penance; I didn’t choose it, and I most certainly don’t agree with it, but it’s been done—is being done—everyday.” 

“Maybe,” Charlie ventured, his eyes shifting nervously between the two, “it’s time for that to stop. You’ve been fired by the President of the United States, indicted by a Federal Grand Jury, vilified by the national media, and you’ve had to deal with all of it by yourself.” Charlie paused to survey the group, considering his next words carefully. “I can’t speak for everyone here,” he qualified, rising from his seat, “but I know that I’ve long since gotten over it, and I think it’s damn time you did, too.” Charlie then extended his open hand to Toby, and several long seconds later, Toby clasped it with his own, squeezing firmly, eyes shining with gratitude. 

Donna rose as well, moving to encircle a reluctant Toby in a hug while Sam simply beamed at him from across the table. Josh for his part called out “Here, here!” slapping his hand against the tabletop for emphasis.

CJ remained sitting and silent until the others had all settled again, before turning again to face him. Drawing a deep breath, she began, “You once asked me what it was I wanted for myself. I have to tell you, the question surprised me because it had been years, really, since I’d had the opportunity think about, let alone pursue anything of the sort. I still don’t have an answer to that question, but I can certainly tell you what I don’t want.” She paused, waiting until his reluctant eyes met her own before continuing, “It’s time to come out of the box, Tobus; penalty’s over.”

“Okay,” he replied, his voice cracking slightly as CJ reached over to envelop him in a hug. 

Her eyes misty with emotion, Donna leaned over to Josh and whispered in his ear, “I’m relieved, honestly, but am I the only one who thinks this has turned into something eerily reminiscent of a ‘Gilmore Girls’ episode?” 

Visibly disturbed by Donna’s observation, Josh jumped forward in his chair, reaching distractedly for his cards. “So, now that that’s settled, let’s say we get back to the poker game, shall we? The night is young and I have some money to win.” 

Several pairs of eyes shifted to Toby, waiting to gauge his reaction to Josh’s abrupt non-sequitur. Toby, all too aware of the scrutiny, also reached for his cards before clearing his throat and replying glibly, “Says the man with the worst poker face in American politics.”

Relived laughter rose from the table as the rest settled in to resume the game. Before CJ was able to continue the hand, however, Danny’s disgruntled, disembodied voice issued forth from the next room, “Hey! You guys are playing poker?!? Why didn’t anyone wake me up?!?”


	7. Chapter 7

Sunday Afternoon  
St. John's Church  
2:29 pm 

Craning her neck, CJ surveyed the arriving guests, most of whom were influential members of the Democratic Party, with a look of disdain. “I can’t remember that last time I was in a room with these people and didn’t have an ass to kiss, an agenda to promote, or a story to spin. I honestly have no idea what to do with myself.”

“You could talk to some of them,” Danny, seated next to her in the pew, suggested patiently.

CJ shot him a withering glare. “I could barely stand talking to these people when I had to. Why the hell would I want to talk to them now that I actually have a choice?”

“So, you’d rather just sit here and, you know, complain?”

“Isn’t that just lucky for you?” she replied, her voice saccharine. 

Donna grinned from her seat in the pew behind the pair. “You know CJ, you should be careful. If Toby heard you talking like that, he’d probably accuse you of stealing his ‘antisocial-I-hate-the-world’ shtick.”

“And he’d warn you not to bring the Yiddish without proper authorization.” CJ deftly parried before adopting a more serious tone. “Do you think he’s going to be okay, after last night? He was pretty quiet for the rest of the game.”

Donna smiled with a confidence she didn’t quite feel. “He’ll be okay. I think he’s more focused on what he’ll do when President Bartlet arrives than on anything else right now.” 

“Yeah, he and I both,” CJ muttered to herself as she remembered how angry Jed Bartlet had been with his once-trusted advisor, even on their last day in office as he signed the document that would spare Toby the added humiliation of incarceration. 

“Besides,” Donna added, oblivious to CJ’s words or thoughts, “Toby’s a brooder. He’s not content unless he’s giving himself an ulcer about something.” As she spoke, a flurry of activity at a side door caught Donna’s attention, as well as the attention of several of the other guests. Glancing over the shoulder of her friend, she noted several men in non-descript black suits enter the church, followed closely by President and Mrs. Santos. 

Rising from her seat, she began to make her way to aisle. “Sorry, guys, but I need to—” she said, gesturing forward to where the first couple was now standing, surrounded by several opportunistic DNC members, all vying for a moment with the sitting President before the ceremony began. 

CJ and Danny watched as Donna crossed the sanctuary, slipped through the group of circling political piranhas and deftly began to deflect their advances.

“Wow, she’s really good,” Danny remarked with awe minutes later as he watched the last of them, Congressman Allen, retreat back to his pew deflated and unsatisfied.

CJ smiled with pride as she watched Donna walk with the couple to their seats at the front of the church. “Something I have known for many, many years.”

Turning to face her, Danny took in her warm eyes, relaxed face and easy smile, and found himself smiling in return. Taking her hand in his, he leaned in to whisper softly, “And how about you? I know better than most how hard last night was on you, too.” 

“Danny,” she said, trying and failing to suppress the delicious shiver that ran down her spine as his breath caressed her neck, “you were asleep.”

“I used to be a reporter. I still have a few reliable sources.”

Turning to face him, she rested her free hand against his cheek before replying, “I’m okay. Not great, but certainly better than I had been.” She sighed sadly, dropping her hand to rest in her lap before adding quietly, “I don’t understand why this is as hard as it is.”

“You’re learning, CJ. All of you are.” Off her look of confusion he clarified, “You met each other because of the work, and lucky for all of you, friendships grew out of that. But that’s nine years of professional decisions inevitably leading to personal hurts, and it’s going to take time and effort to untangle that mess and figure out how to be friends simply because you want to be, not because it’s convenient.” 

“You know I’m terrible at that sort of thing, right?” she asked with a hint of humor.

“You’ve told me as much, on more than one occasion. You’ll get there, CJ. All of you. If nothing else, this weekend is proof of that.”

“Thanks, Danny,” she whispered softly before bestowing a kiss on his worried brow.

 

* * * *

"You know, Toby, there's an exceptionally large ficus tree in the vestibule there," he said, nodding up at the church, "if you're planning to continue hiding from me for the remainder of the day."

His face betraying none of the anxiety coursing through him, Toby turned and acknowledged his former boss with a nod. "Mister President."

Jed raised an eyebrow. "A typo in the Constitution? I always knew you had a bit of an unhealthy obsession with punctuation, but, really, the Constitution?"

The corner of Toby's mouth twitched upwards slightly. "Yes, sir. And an unwavering attention to proper syntax should never be considered detrimental to one’s health, sir."

The men smiled uncomfortably at each other for several seconds before Toby cleared his throat. "Sir—" 

Jed held up a hand and shook his head slowly. "No, don't. It should be me. At first, I couldn't, because of the political and legal ramifications. After the conviction, though, I should have found a way. But by then it had simply become easier not to..." Jed huffed shortly in frustration. "I was angry Toby, but I shouldn't have let that come between us, or between you and the others. I am truly sorry for that."

"With all due respect, Sir, I betrayed your trust, CJ's trust, and the trust of every person working in the West Wing. All of you had every right to be angry with me. You have the right to still be angry."

"I believe I may have betrayed your trust Toby, on more than one occasion, if memory serves me correctly. Yet you found it in your heart to forgive me, and to give me your dedicated support despite that anger. You had a strength which I, regrettably, did not."

Taking a deep breath, Toby asked softly, "And the pardon?"

Jed nodded, studying his shoes for a moment before raising his eyes to meet Toby's. "The ability to forgive comes to each in his own time, and sometimes actions do indeed speak louder than any words can."

“You wouldn’t be surprised or offended, sir, if I, as a writer, disagree with you on the latter?”

Both men smiled as silence descended between them for a second time. This time, however, it was more comfortable, no longer charged with anxious static. "Did you read it, sir?"

"Your paper?" The younger man nodded. "I'm retired and living on a New Hampshire farm with nothing but my wife and a few hundred head of dairy cattle for company. I’d been reduced to reading back issues of Yankee Magazine, and God help me, it was a welcome distraction.” 

"I remember the feeling, sir." 

After glancing at his watch, Jed nodded his head toward the church doors, standing wide in the early afternoon light. "We'd better get inside before they start without us."

"Not likely, sir." 

"Ah, Toby, you'd be surprised. I don't command the kind of respect I used to," the former President said with a smile. Both men started up the steps, Jed with his hands deep in his pockets, Toby reaching up to smooth his hand over his head. "It was brilliant, Toby," Jed said quietly as they crossed the threshold. "Brilliant."

"Thank you, sir,” Toby replied, his taut smile easing slightly as he did so. 

 

* * * *

“So, is this the part where I, as your best man, give you some well-thought out advice on the eve of your entry into the holiest of unions?”

Sam’s eyes widened in mock-horror. “I really hope not, especially after that little speech. Besides, I hardly think that you, of all people, should be waltzing around handing out advice on how to ensure a lasting relationship.”

“First of all,” Josh sputtered defensively, “I have never, and never will ‘waltz’ anywhere other than on a dance floor. Secondly, I’d like to think that maybe someone around here could cut me a little slack about my dating record.”

“Josh, consider who you’re talking to here,” Sam replied lightly as he studied himself in the mirror and adjusted his bowtie.

“I was,” Josh said quietly, his tone unexpectedly serious. Sam turned in surprise to find his friend looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “For the first time in…maybe ever, I think about my future and want something more than pushing the next bill through Congress or securing the next electoral victory.” A beat later, Josh added softly, “I really love her, Sam.”

Crossing the room, Sam rested a steady hand on Josh’s shoulder and smiled. “I know you do, Josh. I suspect I may have known it before you did.” Josh simply grinned sheepishly at his friend.

Sam gave Josh’s shoulder a final squeeze before returning to the mirror to give himself a final once over as, behind him, the door opened and Toby slid inside. “Groom’s Room? The alliteration alone is killing me,” he complained good-naturedly.

“What’s up? We’re not late yet, are we?” Sam asked apprehensively. “Hannah threatened retribution during the honeymoon if I was late.”

Toby shook his head. “I just wanted to say good luck, maybe impart a little last minute advice before the ceremony.”

Incredulously, Sam shook his head. “First Josh, and now you. The confidence you have in me is overwhelming, guys. And Toby, no offense, but you’re divorced.”

“Yes, I am. Which makes me, I believe, an authority on how not to conduct a successful marriage.”

“Ah. So you’d be the person I should consult on what not to do?” 

“Believe me, it’s far better to be aware of the potential pitfalls ahead of time so you can, you know, try and avoid them altogether,” Toby said sagely. “We should probably get out there,” Toby said as he cocked his thumb towards the door, “before President Bartlet starts to quiz unsuspecting guests on the history of the institution of marriage.”

Josh raised his eyebrows in surprise. “He’s here?”

Toby merely nodded. Sam, watching his friend’s face closely, asked apprehensively, “You’ve seen him?”

Toby replied carefully, “We spoke, yes.” 

“And?” Sam prompted a moment later. 

“He said he was impressed with my paper,” Toby said with a self-deprecating shrug of his shoulders. 

Sam, relieved, released a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding and smiled at his friend. “Okay.”

Josh echoed the sentiment, stepping closer to clap his hand against Toby’s back in support. Toby flinched slightly at the unexpected contact before gracing both men with a grateful smile. “Yeah.”

“So, you ready to do this, Sam?” Josh asked, his teasing tone contradicting his sincere smile.

Sam was silent a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to steady himself before turning again to his friend and replying with conviction. “Yeah, I really am.” 

“Well then, “Josh said, ambling over and throwing a causal arm around Sam’s shoulders, “let’s go and get you hitched.”


	8. Chapter 8

Sunday Evening  
Willard Hotel- Crystal Ballroom  
6:37pm

Lightly tapping a fork against the bowl of his champagne flute, Jed Bartlet rose from his seat and called out in a voice formerly reserved for campaign speeches, “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for just a moment so that I might say a few words.” The sound of metal tinkling against crystal amplified as others joined in and the murmur of voices dissipated. 

“A moment? Is he even capable of something that short?” Josh hissed to CJ with a mischievous grin which wilted immediately once the younger man noticed the stern glare the former President was shooting in his direction.

Satisfied that Josh had been at least momentarily put in his place, Jed paused to collect his thoughts, scanning the assembly with an orator’s practiced eye. "Although they may not have realized it, Leo McGarry and I were quite aware that my now former senior staff often bristled at the parental roles we felt compelled to play. How could we not? These young, brilliant and ambitious political minds, eager to prove themselves to the world, who took on their roles at the White House with the innocent enthusiasm of children readying themselves to slay dragons with wooden swords."

"There were so many days it felt distinctly as if Leo and I were running a kindergarten class rather than the highest political office in the country." Everyone laughed softly as Jed continued with an affectionate smile, "But there were so many other days when we were able to fight our way through, rise above the fray, and achieve the impossible.”

"We watched them all, our children, grow and mature over those eight years. Some moved on, seeking new challenges outside a home they had come to outgrow," he said, casting gentle glances at Sam, Josh and Donna before continuing, "and still, like the proud parents we were, we didn't fault them, but watched with pride as they exceeded even their own expectations." 

Donna peeked at Josh out of the corner of her eye, and he squeezed her hand tightly.

"Some stayed until the end," Jed smiled warmly at CJ and Charlie, before turning a more serious gaze towards Toby, "and some faltered along the way. But we never stopping loving each and every one of you," Jed continued with escalating conviction, his eyes and words now focused solely on his former staff, "and never stopped wishing the best in life for each of you." Toby's eyes rose to meet the President's, and he smiled softly at the forgiveness he saw there. Taking notice of the silent exchange, Andie squeezed Toby's arm in silent support. 

Jed paused again, taking a moment to reign in emotions suddenly swelling in his chest and filling his eyes. "Leo would have been so proud, sitting here today and seeing all of you, his children, grown and flourishing. Sitting together again, smiling, joking the way we did in the early days, and leading your lives with confidence and joy, the way we had hoped you would. His pride and love for each of you is palpable as he looks down on us from above this very special day. And I know that he joins me, Sam, in wishing you many, many happy years of marriage, and in wishing for you, Hannah, the patience and fortitude to put up with our youngest son in the many years to come."

 

* * * *

Out of the corner of his mouth, Sam whispered to his new wife with a hint of desperation in his voice, “How much longer do we have to do this?” 

Without a falter in her smile or movements, Hannah whispered back stiffly, “You’re the reason the guest list topped two hundred, just remember that,” before reaching out to shake the hand of an approaching Senator. “Sir, thank you so much for coming.”

After echoing her words and motions with Senator Harkavy and his wife and deftly sidestepping the man’s attempt to engage him in a discussion of SR 568, Sam again turned to Hannah, fatigue dulling his eyes. “We could have eloped.” Her wide-eyed reproachful look spoke volumes. “Right,” he muttered before reaching out to shake another hand, mechanically doling out a platitude as their wedding guests continued to trickle out of the ballroom.

Sam’s face brightened, however, at the approach of the Bartlets, both of whom stepped forward with a stately grace that contradicted the familiar warmth in their eyes. “Sam,” Jed boomed as he reached out to clasp the younger man’s hands between both his own. “I can’t tell you how privileged we feel to have been with you both today.”

“Sir, I think Hannah would agree with me in saying that the honor is all ours. And thank you for your speech earlier, sir. It was…”

“I’ll bet you thought I wouldn’t be able to come up with something like that on my own—you and Zeigler always doubted me.” Turning to Hannah, he continued, “I can remember the apoplectic fits they’d go into the moment I’d go off-text during a speech. Well, that ought to show the both of you never to doubt my skills as an orator again.”

Sam smiled indulgently. “Yes, sir. But if you don’t mind, I think it might be better—safer, actually—for the both of us if we weren’t to mention that to Toby.”

“No, I suppose your right. Hannah,” Jed said stepping over to envelop the surprised woman in a hug, “I meant what I said. You need to take care of this man for us. A brilliant idealist, our Sam. Be sure that you do everything you can to keep him that way.”

Sam could feel his cheeks flush, as Hannah breathed, “I will, sir,” and smiled warmly at the former President. 

“And a romantic, too, but I’m hoping you already know that?” Jed teased with a smirk that made Hannah blush more deeply than her husband. 

“Jed,” Abbey admonished with a smile before reaching to hug first Sam, then Hannah in turn. “Be good to one another,” she whispered to both with bright eyes. 

“You know Sam, you—all of you,” Jed amended, eyes darting to a table behind Sam where the rest of ‘the group’ was still sitting, “should come up to the farm for a weekend, take some time off, relax a little.” 

Sam’s face squinched in confusion. “Sir?”

“You’re not as young as you used to be, and take it from a man who’s got nothing to do these days but relax, it really is quite restorative.”

“What he means, Sam,” Abbey cut in with a smile, “is that he’s bored stiff and wants someone to play with.”

Furrowing his brow, the former President replied huffily, “I heard that, you know.”

Sam turned slightly, his eyes seeking and easily finding them, comfortably arrayed around a far table and showing no signs of readying to leave. It was a scene so poignantly familiar, for a moment he wondered if his fatigue had finally gotten the better of him, and he was hallucinating. It could have been the close of any number of evenings during the Bartlet administration—a Correspondent’s Dinner, State Dinner, Congressional reception. Blinking his eyes furiously, Sam refocused on the scene before him, and took note of the gray hinting at Toby’s temples, the tiny lines radiating from the corner of CJ’s eyes, the broadness of Charlie’s shoulders, realizing as he did so that this was no apparition. And he was surprised to feel his heart aching, not from the weight of years passed, nor from the nostalgia of things lost, but because in that moment, the past was alive in the present, and he was grateful for it. 

“Sam? Are you listening to me?” Jed prodded. Turning to Hannah, he remarked conspiratorially, “You see, it’s just as I told Toby, my respect level plummeted the moment I left office.”

Snapping out of his reverie, Sam turned, embarrassed, to face the former President. “I’m sorry, sir. New Hampshire. I don’t know when we might be able to get away, sir.”

Glancing over Sam’s shoulder, Jed took silent note of the scene that had held the younger man’s attention, and nodded slightly in understanding. “Well, perhaps the next time business brings you north, then.”

“Sir, please don’t take this the wrong way, but that may not be for, well, perhaps a couple years.”

Adopting an air of offense, Jed drew himself up to full height and puffed his chest before challenging, “Are you trying to tell me that the only circumstances under which the Santos administration would come to the Granite State is to begin the re-election campaign? Did you just dis the great state of New Hampshire?” 

Sam’s eyes widened in panic. 

“Jed,” Abbey warned softly, laying a gentle hand on his bicep.

He acquiesced with an apologetic smile. “All right, all right. But two years just isn’t good enough. We’ll have to find a way to make it happen sooner.”

Relaxing, Sam reached for Hannah’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “Yes, sir. I think we’d like that.”


	9. Chapter 9

“You don’t think they’re going to try to kick us out of here, do you?” Josh asked apprehensively as he watched the hotel staff fluidly moving about the rapidly empting room, clearing tables and collecting discarded napkins.

“Nah,” Charlie dismissed, clumsily throwing his feet up on a neighboring chair and lacing his fingers behind his head, “the Willard’s too sophisticated an establishment to simply toss us out on the street. They’re simply going to pack up the bar and wait us out instead.”

Toby’s eyes widened in distress, his gaze slipping quickly across the room to where a uniformed man was methodically stowing liquor bottles under the bar, then dropping abruptly to consider the empty highball glass in his hand. “Damn.” 

CJ chuckled softly as she leaned into Danny, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. She sighed contentedly as he began to rub soft circles against her exposed back. “Yeah, they’re pretty devious that way,” he said with a gentle smile, absentmindedly rolling the bottom edge of his glass against the tabletop with his free hand.

“Sam looks so happy,” Donna observed, watching he and Hannah with a warm smile. “It really suits him.” Slouched in the chair next to her, Josh’s eyes traced the familiar lines of her face with reverence. Reaching out, he captured her hand in his, raising it to brush his lips across her knuckles in a gentle caress. Turning, she offered him a radiant smile as he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her middle and pulling her more tightly against his side.

“Can you believe that one of us has actually done it—gotten married, I mean?” CJ asked.

“I think the better question is who do you think will be the next one to take the plunge?” Charlie said mischievously, eyes darting with purpose from one person to the next. 

Looking around the table, Toby found himself relieved to discover that several others in the group were also looking decidedly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. Deciding to put an end to it, he protested gruffly, “I haven’t had nearly enough to drink to be able to tolerate, let alone participate, in this conversation. Next topic, please.” 

“How about breakfast tomorrow before everyone has to head out?” CJ offered, looking at everyone expectantly.

Josh hung his head. “I’ve left the West Wing in the hands of my Communications Director, someone who’s been frequently described as ‘cantankerous’ on her best days, for the past 48 hours.”

“Sounds suspiciously like someone I used to work with,” CJ muttered under her breath, studiously ignoring the scathing look Toby shot in her direction. 

Unaware of the exchange, Josh continued without pause, “I need to go in early tomorrow to do some damage control before Senior Staff. And with Sam being away for the next ten days…”Josh trailed off with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. 

“They’re leaving for the honeymoon tomorrow?” Andie asked as she resumed her seat beside Toby.

“Yeah, by this time tomorrow they’ll be lying on a Fijian beach,” Donna sighed enviously.

“Or not,” Toby said with a suggestive smirk that refused to fade even when CJ’s stocking clad foot connected with his shin. “Manners, CJ,” he admonished calmly, reaching into his breast pocket for the cigar he had stowed there earlier. 

“No smoking, Toby,” she sing-songed back at him, pointing to a small brass sign just behind his head. Toby simply rolled the unlit cigar between his fingers, eyes studying its motion with detached interest before sticking it, unlit, between his lips. Andie demonstrated her disapproval with a gentle shove against his arm, which he acknowledged only with an imperious arch of eyebrow. 

“Toby, Andie, how about you?” Danny pressed.

“He’s got a meeting with the Dean of the College tomorrow afternoon,” Andie said with a sad smile. “His train leaves tomorrow mid-morning, otherwise I’m sure he’d—“

“Otherwise,” he interrupted with a pointed look at his ex-wife, “I’d have most graciously accepted the invitation, something I would have been more than capable of doing on my own because I’d mastered the intricacies of the English language, you know, four decades ago.” In a much softer tone, he added a moment later, “I am sorry.”

“S’okay,” CJ said with a melancholy smile. 

“Train?” Charlie asked, perplexed. “You didn’t catch the Continental Shuttle out of Newark?” 

“Sadly, no, I did not,” Toby replied, sending an inscrutable look in Andie’s direction before adding, “And for the record, whoever said you haven’t really seen America until you've seen it by train, I don't think they'd actually had the pleasure of the experience."

“Toby,” Andie began, her voice laced with frustration, “We’ve been over this.”

“We have,” he said simply in a tone which effectively ended the discussion. 

“So, I guess that means no breakfast,” CJ said, gazing at her friends with sad eyes.

“Well, I could pick you up tomorrow morning and the three of us can stop to get something on the way to the airport,” Donna suggested brightly.

“That sounds good,” Danny replied, nudging CJ’s head with his shoulder a moment later to encourage her reply.

“Yeah,” CJ said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sounds great.” 

Donna deflated slightly at her friend’s lack of enthusiasm, causing Josh to lever himself forward in his seat, adopting a defensive posture. “CJ…” he cautioned.

“I’m sorry,” she asserted, raising her head from its perch on Danny’s shoulder and throwing up a surrendering hand. “I’d just hoped we might all be able to spend a little more time together before leaving. This…it’s been nice, you know?”

Defused, Josh sank back in his chair, silent as he mulled over CJ’s words. Cocking a self-satisfied smirk, he finally replied, “Donna thinks that’s good because it’ll make all of us miserable later.” 

“Okay, say that again?” Charlie requested.

Donna meanwhile, had pulled herself out of Josh’s arms and then slapped him soundly across the abdomen, eliciting a surprised “Ooomph,” in response. Turning to the rest, she clarified, “You can’t miss something you never had in the first place. And I, frankly, would rather miss all of you,” she said casting a significant look at each person around the table in turn, “than to have not seen you this weekend, or to have never made it to the campaign office in Nashua ten years ago.”

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t say it quite as eloquently as that,” Josh conceded. 

“And maybe you didn’t say it that way, you know, at all,” CJ corrected sarcastically. 

“Well, you know what they say—” Charlie began.

“No, no, I beg you, don’t do it,” Toby interrupted with a hint of desperation.

Plowing ahead, Charlie finished, “Absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder,” sending an imperious smirk in Toby’s general direction.

“And he goes to the idiom anyway,” Toby muttered. 

“And I was sure we were going to have a meaningful moment, there,” Donna sighed as she again relaxed against Josh, who reached out to lace her fingers through his own. 

“Guys?” Sam called, approaching the table with Hannah beside him. 

“Hey Sam!,” Josh greeted jovially, “You just missed us having an almost-meaningful moment, which could be either good or bad for you, depending on how you look at it.”

Donna craned her head to regard him through narrowed eyes, “You really want to be sleeping by yourself tonight, don’t you?”

Josh’s eyes widened and he gulped audibly before replying in a strained, high-octave voice, “I’m just gonna shut up now.”

Choosing to ignore the little drama, Sam continued, “Guys, I really hate to say this, but I think we need to leave.”

“If for no other reason than that they’ve closed the bar,” Toby groused just as the chandelier lights dimmed suddenly and dramatically. 

“And,” Andie added thoughtfully a moment later, “if we don’t get up soon, there’s the distinct possibility the staff’s going to lock us in here for the night.” The rest were looking around the room, shocked to discover that they were now the only remaining guests.

“It’s late, and it’s time to go,” Sam explained softly, his voice heavy with regret.

The group rose silently from their seats, the women squinting the dim light to find and retrieve their evening bags, the men shrugging into their tuxedo jackets. In fits and starts they began making their way to the ballroom door: Charlie leading the way as he ambled forward, hands in his pockets; Josh guiding Donna with a hand at the small of her back; Danny pulling a sleepy CJ by the hand; Toby and Andie whispering softly to one another as they walked side by side, Sam and Hannah hand in hand brining up the rear. 

“You know,” Sam said apprehensively as they collected at the door, “We could do this again. Soon.” The rest turned to face him, their faces unreadable in the deep amber light. “I know I’d like to do this again soon,” he added nervously.

“Remember that talk we had before the ceremony about what not to do, Sam?” Toby asked tiredly. “Well, this would be one of those pitfalls I was telling you about.”

It took several beats for Sam to catch on, after which he cast an anxious glance at Hannah before replying, “Ah, you mean the part where I didn’t clarify that what I’d like to do soon is not actually get married again, but rather spend some extended quality time with my friends.” Hannah, for her part was struggling, and failing, to hide her amusement at his discomfort.

“A reunion, of sorts,” CJ offered.

“Yes!” Sam exclaimed with relief, thankful at least someone was taking him seriously. “Exactly, a reunion. That’s what we should do,” he determined, punching his extended index finger into the air for emphasis.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea, Sam,” Donna said with an indulgent smile. 

“Yeah, but any reunioning is probably going to have to be close to DC for the next couple years,” Josh warned, his mind drifting against his will to the job responsibilities he’d be returning to in only a few short hours.

“Next couple years?” CJ asked in astonishment. “Josh, you disappoint me. I was counting on it being that way for the next seven.” Josh favored her with an appreciative smile.

“So, when President Bartlet invited us all to visit the farm, and I told him not to expect us until the New Hampshire primary in two years, I wasn’t that far off.”

“Pretty much,” Josh replied with an apologetic shrug.

“Okay, so when and where, people?” CJ directly impatiently. “Someone throw me a bone here so I have something in this life to look forward to.” Looking disgruntled by her statement, Danny opened his mouth to complain but was cut off when she turned abruptly to face him. “Oh, give it a rest, Daniel. You know damn well what I meant.”

“And I’m just going to be shutting up like my friend here,” Danny replied huffily.

“How about Thanksgiving?” Andie asked. “As long as none of you mind having a pair of four year olds underfoot,” she qualified a moment later. 

“Andie…” Toby cautioned, as he found himself feeling suddenly, irrationally nervous about what everyone’s response to the invitation would be. 

“Will there be, you know, actually turkey and stuffing at this Thanksgiving?” Josh asked excitedly, unconsciously licking his lips at the thought. 

Giving him a confused look, Andie nodded slowly in the affirmative.

“You’ve got to forgive him, Andie,” Donna said while giving Josh’s arm an indulgent pat, “but Josh’s idea of a Thanksgiving dinner usually involves a pick-up order of Kung Pao Chicken, dumplings, and egg rolls from Fast Fong’s.”

“That’s not true,” he defended wildly. “I’ve had turkey and stuffing at my mother’s…a few years ago,” he trailed off meekly. “Never mind,” he finally muttered in embarrassment. 

“We’d love to,” Donna said graciously. 

“So would we,” Hannah said enthusiastically.

Sam turned quickly to study her face. “Are you sure. Your parents—“

“We’ll see them at Christmas,” she said simply.

Sam mouth curled into a bright smile. “Okay.”

“CJ?”

“See, this is the great thing about being your own boss and living with a freelance writer. Flexible scheduling.”

“We’ll be there,” Danny said with a smile. 

“And I,” Toby said, clearing his throat nervously as he studied the carpet under his feet, “will of course, be with my family. So,” he said, lifting his eyes to cast a meaningful gaze at each of his friends in turn, “I’ll see you all in November. And someone please remember to bring cranberry sauce. She,” he explained, hitching a thumb in Andie’s direction, “can’t make a good sauce to save her life.” 

 

* * * *

Sunday Night  
Latham Hotel Georgetown  
10:52pm

Josh pulled the car to a stop in front of the hotel, throwing the gearshift into ‘park’ before looking into the rearview to find CJ leaning heavily against Danny, asleep. Danny met his eyes in the mirror and raised an eyebrow. “We’re here,” Josh said quietly. Danny nodded before gently prodding CJ’s arm and leaning in to whisper tenderly in her ear. 

Slightly embarrassed by the scene unfolding in the back seat, Josh averted his eyes to find Donna gazing at him softly from the passenger seat. Returning the smile, he leaned in to give her a quick kiss before opening his door and pulling himself out of the car and into the humid night. 

Upon his exit, a valet stepped forward tentatively, and then retreated as Josh shook his head to indicate that he would not be staying long. Donna circled the car and came up beside him, then allowed him to pull her close as he leaned back against the vehicle. The rear passenger door popped open a minute later, Danny climbing out first before reaching in to offer CJ a helping hand. “Careful there, CJ,” Danny warned as she wobbled a bit in her high heels. 

“I’m okay,” she dismissed with a sloppy wave, stepping forward to allow Danny room to close the car door. 

“So, you’re sure about the cab?” Josh queried.

Danny nodded resolutely. “Yeah. You both need to work tomorrow. I think we can remember how to find our way to Reagan.”

“National,” Josh contested obstinately.

“Whatever,” Danny dismissed with a wave. 

“If you change your mind,” Donna offered between stifled yawns.

Danny smiled. “Thanks.”

“So,” Josh said slowly after several minutes of companionable silence, “I guess this is it.” Reaching out he enveloped CJ in a strong bear hug as Danny move forward to bestow Donna with the same. Partners were exchanged a minute later, and the hugs repeated with only a slight manly hesitation on the part of Josh and Danny, and a few tears from Donna. Once separated, Josh gave a last, self-conscious grin to CJ before resting his hand at Donna’s back and leading her back to the car. 

CJ was surprised to find herself smiling with dry eyes as she watched Josh and Donna move away. Her thoughts danced ahead to Thanksgiving, then drifted to Danny’ words earlier in the church, and her smile widened in anticipation. Casting a quick, significant glance at Danny, she stepped forward and called out. “Josh!” His head whipped around in surprise, and once she was certain she had his undivided attention, she stated simply and with conviction, “You’re wrong; this is just the beginning.” 

 

*fin.*


End file.
